


When You Have Talent To Spare

by thatdamneddame



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, bowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamneddame/pseuds/thatdamneddame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's the World's Greatest Marsksman; he's pretty certain he'll be great at bowling</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Have Talent To Spare

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to prettyasadiagram for the beta.
> 
> Everything I know about bowling comes from being really terrible at bowling and the internet.

Six months in, Phil decides that they should maybe give dating like normal people a shot instead of defiling every break room back at SHIELD. Because Phil brings this up when Clint is still post-orgasmic and cuddly, of course he says yes.

 

***

 

“I don’t know,” Phil huffs over breakfast. “What’s something regular people do?”

“Watch _Green Acres_ and fuck on your sofa,” Clint tries. Honestly, he’d be happy doing either one with Phil. He’s still not really sure why they need to give this dating like regular people thing a go. Phil, though, just looks at him in bland-faced disapproval, so Clint relents. “Fuck, I don’t know. Go bowling?”

Phil nods and apparently it’s decided. For their third date like civilized people, Clint and Phil are going bowling.

 

***

 

Phil shows up in dark wash jeans and a navy polo with a bowling bag swung over his shoulder. Clint shows up in a T-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. When the guy at the counter looks pointedly at his feet and asks for his shoe size, Clint asks if he has a foot fetish or something.

Honestly, Clint just wishes that he didn’t find Phil trying to hide his laugh so attractive. He grew up in the circus—how the hell was he supposed to know that there are shoes just for bowling?

 

***

 

Phil makes Clint start to punch their information into the computer while he rifles through his bag and pulls out his very own pair of shoes and a bowling ball. The ball is painted red, white, and blue with a Captain America star around the finger holes on top.

“I take it you’ve done this before, sir?” Clint asks, wondering why he finds Phil carefully dusting his shoes before putting them on so arousing.

Phil smiles, warm and happy, eyes crinkling. “It’s important to have hobbies outside of the office.”

And then Phil pulls out a wrist guard and Clint laughs so hard he cries.

 

***

 

“You ready to witness greatness?” Clint asks, feeling comfortably cocky. He’s the World’s Greatest Marksman; he’s sure he’ll be great at bowling.

“Sure,” Phil says, watching Clint’s ball sink into the gutter, not even halfway down the lane. “When does greatness get here?”

Clint scowls down the alley. “Just getting warmed up, boss.”

This time, he bowls a three. Phil does the gentlemanly thing and pretends he’s not laughing.

 

***

 

Things do not improve when Phil suggests that Clint “Loosen his thumb” and “Stop aiming for the pins. Try to focus on the arrows. You’re left handed so you should be aiming for that arrow, right there.”

“None of this makes sense,” Clint informs him. “This isn’t even a real sport.”

Phil gives him an appraising onceover and, because he loves Clint, ignores him having a tantrum in the middle of a bowling alley. “How about this? See if this helps.” Phil runs his hands, warm and large and steady, down Clint’s arms, across his shoulders, tweaking his stance just a little.

It does wonders for Clint’s morale even though it does nothing for his game.

 

***

 

After Phil’s fourth strike of the game, Clint begs, “Please tell me this isn’t your first time.”

“I’m in a bowling league,” Phil explains. “I’m the treasurer, actually.”

“A bowling league?” Clint is not surprised. Of course Phil’s in a bowling league. Of course he’s the treasurer.

“Why else do you think I’m so good at throwing bags of flour?” Phil’s smile is best described as cheeky and Clint doesn’t want to add this to the list of why he is insanely attracted to and sort of crazy in love with Phil Coulson. Instead, he adds it to the end of the list and refuses to think about it.

 

***

 

Eight frames in, Clint gives up. He wanders off to go buy nachos and a pitcher of beer and leaves Phil and his perfect form and charming stories of the Howling Commandos at the lane, where he’s probably tenderly wiping down his shoes waiting for the ball to return.

He comes back  to find Phil taking a selfie with the scoreboard behind him, and it makes Clint feel all gooey inside and just a little weak at the knees.

“Come on, you nerd,” Clint tells him, feeling unbearably fond. “Stop messing around, this is a serious game.”

Phil startles and laughs at being caught. “How could I forget?”

Clint hands him the nachos and beer and pretends that he doesn’t have butterflies in his stomach. Natasha, Clint decides, can never find out about any of this.

 

***

 

“We could just have sex in the bathroom,” Clint tries desperately, at the end of the first game when Phil says that they paid for two games so that’s how many they’re going to play. The score stands at 41 (Clint) to 234 (Phil). Three lanes over there is a party of nine-year olds who have bumpers and Clint has never been so envious in his life. “We don’t actually have to go bowling.”

Phil laughs, carefree and easygoing. “Come on, Hawkeye, you scared of a little challenge?”

“Just opting for a tactical retreat. I thought you’d like that, sir.”

“Tell you what,” Phil says, taking a sip of his beer before standing up. “You break sixty on the next game, and I’ll let you fuck me in my bowling league shirt.”

Clint groans and wonders why he always falls for people who are cruel to him. Also, he has no idea how the hell he’s going to break 60 with this unfortunate erection. Phil looks back from where he just bowled a strike with a knowing smile.

 

***

 

Clint bowls a 58.

At the end of the game, Phil carefully tucks away his bowling shoes and says, “Sorry, Barton, guess you’ll have to do better next time,” and Clint thinks that his sexual frustration might actually kill him.

But Phil’s giving him that lazy up-and-down look that 9-out-of-10 times ends in sex, so Clint tries, “What happens if I threaten to tell Sitwell you’re on a bowling league called the Howling Commandos?” Sitwell and Phil have been collecting blackmail on each other for years. Clint’s pretty sure that whoever gets the most incriminating evidence in any given year wins a trophy. He’s seen it in Phil’s office before, nestled between the ferns Phil somehow manages to keep alive.

“Well then,” Phil smiles, “I might have to bribe you.”

 

***

 

So, turns out, Clint is great at a lot of things: cars, boats, coffee. He is not great at bowling in any way, shape, or form, but that’s okay, he still gets to go home with Phil Coulson.

 


End file.
